Secret Letters
by The Freaky Butt Mate
Summary: [Drabble] [mm] When someone close to you dies, you hold their memory close. But memories can only go so far. They keep you warm - but they can only show you how cold you are now. [KurdaGavner]


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**Secret Letters**

- - - -

His blood.

My crumpled shirt, thrown carelessly into the corner of my small room, was soaked with it.

A red, heavy, ugly thing.

It made my room stink of death.

Of _his_ death.

As soon as I had returned to my room, I had taken off the stained garment and thrown it as far away as me as possible. Now I sat on my little stool, shirtless, my elbows tucked against my knees so that I could stare at my hands.

The hands that had –

That had –

I couldn't bring myself to say it.

Beside me, the fire I kept lit every hour of every day – despite proudly bearing the nickname 'Ice King' (or, sometimes, the endearing form of 'Ice Queen') I had a hatred for the cold – crackled and hissed at me. I could not feel its warmth – as if it refused to warm me, to punish me for the sin I had committed.

And all I needed – all I wanted – was a little bit of warmth.

But I couldn't feel it.

Instead, I stared at my hands.

Most of his blood had gone, wiped off onto my discarded garment. And yet, there still remained some traces of it, small, dried slashes of colour buried deep in the creases of my hands.

Slowly, I curled my fingers into a fist.

Brought the fists to my forehead.

All I wanted was to hold him once more.

But I couldn't. His body was gone, taken away by the vamapaneze and disposed of, so that no vampire could find it, so that even _I_ could not find it.

And so the only physical remnants I still had of him was the blood on my hands, on my shirt in the corner of the room.

I had memories of him – of his face, his smile, his cheerfulness, his snores, his touches, his kisses, his hugs, of the feeling of him lost inside me. But memories could only go so far. They could help you remember a time of when you were warm.

But then they remind you of just how cold you are now.

Like I am.

Because he was gone.

Forever.

And I had killed him.

Gutted him.

Like a fish.

I could go on and say that he was just another man – just another of the many conquests I had achieved, that there would be many more after him if I were to live a life longer than I expected to – but I knew I would be lying. There had been something about him that made me _feel_ something for him. It wasn't quite love. But then again, it wasn't quite _not_ love, either.

It had been… something _special._

Something dropped onto my pants, something icily cold. I blinked, sniffed, and slowly touched my eyes.

They were damp.

I smirked softly.

Tears.

_"…Angel pearls beading your golden lashes…"_

He wasn't a poet by nature, so I've no idea how he had come up with that line when he discovered me crying one time. But he had said it, sitting down next to me and wiping away the tears.

It must have been something pre-written for him.

Written.

_Written?_

I sat up straight. Written. Why had that word struck such a chord?

when we were far away, when we were separated, on different missions for the princes – we would leave letters for one another – secret letters – that only we knew about -

Slowly, I turned my gaze towards my desk, covered in pieces of parchment and paper, ink wells, ink nibs, pens, pencils, mechanical pencils and every other piece of stationary available to vampire. Underneath the masses of maps, was a stack of neatly folded pieces of paper, lightly tied up together with a neat red ribbon.

Slowly, I stood up.

Slowly, I shifted a map.

Slowly, I picked up the stack of letters

The last remnant of him.

My only way of savouring his memory.

Sitting back down on my chair, I stared down at the letters. They had been written in his big, childish print, and the spelling and grammar had been horrible – but they had been written by him, for me.

And I cherished them for that reason.

I brought the papers to my face, breathing in their scent. The stack still smelt like him, that warm, deep, manly smell that I had liked so

I closed my eyes.

I smirked as more angel pearls beaded my eyelashes.

I pressed the papers to my forehead.

And I cried for my loss.

_I will you remember you,_ I thought. _I will remember you forever. _

_I love you, Gavner Purl._

_- - - -_

**A.N** Bleh. That was soooo much better in my mind. T.T


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